Constable Cooper and the Felonious Fox
by Dove the Unoriginal
Summary: Set after the 3rd game, some spoilers, and starts off AU. Sly Cooper, an officer at Interpol, runs afoul of a surprisingly not so mysterious thief...


It was late one night, as I sat in my office with a bright full moon and a sky full of stars at my back, having some trouble concentrating on my work. This was before Interpol had become a real 24-hour operation, mind you. The janitor hadn't yet arrived for the evening cleaning and I was doing my best to finish a stack of paperwork that I'd let pile-up on my desk. My boss had finally given me a little "talk" (one that was loud enough to hear down the hall and past a few flights of stairs) about how I was slacking off too much on handing in my reports. I didn't care about his grouchiness, he could have yelled at me until he was blue in the face, but I was glad to have a job, any job, especially this job, so I took it to heart and tried to spend what turned out to be a very slow evening catching up. You know me though, Sly Cooper. I can be dedicated when there's a little adventure in what I'm doing but... keeping track of criminal records and red tape? That's just not me.

Wait, let me explain something. You seem a little confused. See, after the death of my parents at the hands of the Fiendish Five, I'd been sent to an orphanage where I spent the rest of my childhood. I never really made any friends because all my attempts at seeming cool or adventerous backfired. No one cared that my father had been a master thief and it left me feeling... kind of empty inside. But I don't want to talk about that. That's the sort of thing the orphanage therapist kept asking me to tell her about when I got into "trouble" (their word for stealing and fighting in the name of justice.) In the end, when I was legally an adult, I left the orphanage to find my lonesome little path in life.

At first, I had no idea what to do. I tried thieving because that was what came naturally to me. My father, even at a young age, had been trying to prepare me for my life as a master thief. And even though I had only read some of the Thievious Raccoonus at a young age, I still remembered a lot. The problem is... by myself it was just too easy to get caught. I was put in jail a few times, luckily on light charges so it wasn't for very long. But it was enough to make me decide I never wanted to go back. I vowed never to break the law again... and what better way to prove it than to join the Parisian police? They apparently didn't agree, thinking I was trying to pull a fast one on them. I almost became a private detective after that but... I couldn't get anyone to help me with the startup loan so I gave up, becoming pretty disgruntled about life in general. Realizing that everything my father had stood for had failed me, I decided to vent my frustration out on the local criminals. I may have had trouble outwitting the law on my own but I could easily pull one over on a thug or two. I took an almost bizarre glee in turning my fellow, slightly more successful, criminals over to the law that had let me down (for a price, mind you. I had to eat too.)

I knew the Fiendish Five were still out there but without being a master thief or a cop, there was very little I could do about it. How could the police catch me and yet still be such failures when it came to catching the big, bad bandits that were the real threat to everyone else? I felt I should do something but with my limited resources, all I could do was fume and do my best as a full-time bounty hunter/vigilante.

To my surprise, Interpol was the one who called me first. It seemed one of their agents had seen me make one of my usual, dazzling civilian arrests in public. Most of the higher ups weren't entirely certain they liked my methods but they did like the results, noting that I had actually had a hand in arresting almost as many criminals as their best agent did on a good day. (I was devoted and I had a lot of time on my hands, what can I say?)

The guy who recommended me ended up being my boss. He said he'd never seen anyone use a cane to such effect but he warned me that I better not go soft or it could cost me. Overall, it was a lot more encouraging than you might imagine. I'd never had anyone give me that kind of praise before. It seemed like everyone else just wanted to yell at me for being a screwup, a useless thorn in the side of society, even though it wasn't really my fault. I'd really been missing out on this praise stuff! Little did I know that was just the tip of the iceberg. Within six months I had easily become the best officer at Interpol. I was made a constable shortly after and things just kept looking up. Finally, after years of futile searching, I'd found a lead on the Fiendish Five. Who they were and where they might currently be just seemed to fall into my lap, as if it were a gift. But it wasn't long before my whole world was flung upside down. That was the day I met Ms. Carmelita Montoya Fox at the opera... Well, night really. And what a night that was! The atmosphere was perfect, there was thieving and capture and a janitor's closet but... this isn't about that.

After the opera incident, I thought I'd seen the last of her (even though I'd only just met her.) Which was really quite a shame as I fancied seeing her far more than I should have. Luckily for me (and I use that term sparingly) I was proven wrong. Where was I? Oh, yes, I was alone, enjoying the calming effect my office had when most of the lights where out and the window was open, letting in a soft breeze. The daily noise had died down to nothing more than the soft hum of the extensive security used by Interpol. It was times like this that Interpol felt like my own little fortress of solitude against the rest of the world...

The night janitor wasn't due for another hour, which was going to be my unspoken cue to leave. I knew Rob would be irritable if he saw what looked like a more or less untouched stack on my desk and I thought a cup of warm coffee might help me stay awake long enough so that I could honestly say I'd finished half the paperwork I usually did my best to ignore. That got me to thinking about finding Officer Crinhorn's personal stash of Columbian Best in the break-room. I'd been given the sole honor of being allowed to drink some whenever I feel like it, if only because I'm his partner, but it seems like everyone else wants to drink it more often than either of us actually brings up the word coffee in our daily conversation (and that man loves his coffee.) Crinhorn's way of dealing with it was to start "misplacing" his special, personally ground bags of coffee in the break-room. It's a little annoying but I always have fun discovering what Crinhorn thought was a good hiding place.

I'd just finished brewing a small pot of the stuff, after finding the bag tucked under the sink and behind the drain-cleaner (I'd have to talk to him about that), when I noticed that something didn't seem right. It took me a few minutes to realize the quiet hum of the lasers was gone. There was nothing but an eerie silence in it's place and the hairs on the back of my neck raised, anticipating something more. I sprinted back to my office, to get my father's cane off my coat rack. I had a hunch there was someone uninvited in the building and I wasn't going to face them empty-handed. (I'm not exactly the best at hand-to-hand combat.)

As I hastily unlocked the door I thought I saw, behind the pane of glass where my name was painted, a faint moving shadow. I threw the door open wide and found myself face to face... with Carmelita!

"Don't make a move, Ms. Fox," I warned her.

I had my arms spread out and my hands up against the doorframe to block any sudden moves she might make for the door. If she wanted to get out then she'd have to go through me first! I know that probably wasn't how she got in... I really should stop leaving my window open but there was a cool breeze earlier and the fan on my desk had died that morning. Not to mention, with this kind of traffic coming through it, only the thought that I might end up in hot water could keep me from doing it again.

She turned to face me and narrowed her eyes behind the slender, clear glasses she wore. Her dark red lips were pouty with annoyance. Her ears twitched slightly, making that single, rebellious hoop earring sparkle in the dim light. The tip of her tail flicked across my filing cabinet, agitated, and she slowly raised her shock pistol to face me. She wasn't going down without a fight, which was a real pity because I had no intention of fighting her. Even though she had a gun pointed at my unprotected chest, I couldn't resist giving her one of my winning grins.

"You seem happy to see me, ringtail," she said, "Now why is that?"

I only gave her another suave smile in answer and remained where I was, though I tried to make myself look more relaxed.

She kept talking though, as if she hadn't noticed a thing, "...Because they asked you personally to send me to jail? Do you think I'm giving you some kind of lucky break here?"

What? I had been assigned to her case just that week, when her gang had officially come to Interpol's notice. And that takes a lot of work, I know. But was she trying to bluff her way out of a sticky situation by setting me off guard?

She saw my hesitation then and took a chance. I saw her slip a manilla folder, that she'd tucked behind her back when I startled her, into the front of her dark blue trenchcoat. I frowned, calculating swiftly in my head what kind of files she could've been after. All I had were my case files and some of Crinhorn's work that he'd left on my desk by mistake. I was going to pity Crinhorn if she took any of his stuff and then rub it in his face so he wouldn't try to dump some of his workload on me next time. Actually, I decided to lie just so I could do that anyway. Even without proof, I was still pretty sure she was taking something of mine.

"Oh, not as happy after all," she added, "I guess now you know better than to get your hopes up about catching me, Cooper."

"Honestly, Carmelita... Most people would say frisking you was the high point of their evening," I teased.

I think perhaps I came on a little strong. I can be quite charming and I use it every chance I get. But Carmelita usually took me so seriously I had to wonder if I was losing my touch.

"Men!" she snapped, "You really are all the same. Every time I think I could be mistaken, one of you perverts says something to change my mind. And to think its a cop this time! Aren't you supposed to uphold the law?"

"Ms. Fox," I said gently, "I'm not the one holding a gun. Now unless you intend to shoot me, please put it down. Then we'll talk seriously."

I knew I didn't have the authority to bargain in that situation. She was standing between me and my (mostly) non-lethal weapon of choice. She could easily kill me, too. But I didn't want to upset her anymore than I already had, so I kept my distance and tried not to put my foot in my mouth again.

She studied me so grimly I thought that SHE might be the one in peril. And then to my surprise, she dropped her arm to her side before putting her other gloved hand (in suede no less) on her hip. She looked darkly amused now. I couldn't help it. I'm such a sucker for attention that I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned my shoulder up against the doorframe casually. I wanted her to look at me for as long as possible.

"Don't think you've won," she chided me, "I just want to know what you meant when you said 'we'll talk seriously'."

"About anything you want to discuss, Ms. Fox," I said quite casually, "I'm open to suggestion."

Her brown eyes widened and she took her glasses off before looking at me as if she'd never seen me before. I knew the glasses were reading glasses that she wore on the job because she liked to, not normally because she needed them to see clearly. Then again, maybe she'd brought them to study my files. Either way, I should have looked much the same while they were perched on her nose as I would have when they were off.

"You mean... to tell me," she said slowly, "that YOU want to have a long conversation... while I stand here, in your office, in the middle of the night? Are you out of your mind? What are you even doing here? I thought Interpol was closed."

I eased off the doorframe and made my way towards her. She backed up against my desk unconsciously and watched with suspicion as I walked around. I took my cane off the hat rack, to which she raised her pistol again but held her fire. Smirking, I sat down heavily in my chair and arranged myself comfortably, with the cane across my lap and my arms behind my head as I leaned backwards. But she ignored me this time. Instead, she looked from my cane to the hat rack and then apparently took a nice, long look at the blue cap still hanging near the top of it. I loved that cap... it had been my father's. I admit that in many ways I felt like my father had let me down... but I still never wanted to forget him.

"You can't have it," I said, my determination swelling.

She turned to look at me with such sadness that I was confused at first. Did she really like my hat that much? With that look on her face, I almost felt like giving it to her. But I'd learned to be tough. I wouldn't give in!

"...Okay, it's yours." I said it so quickly that it made MY head spin.

Damn! Okay, I would give in... but I wouldn't like it. I immediately tried to remedy the mistake.

"But you'll owe me," I added cheerfully, "And I'm not sure you want that... I've been told I'm very demanding."

Carmelita snorted in an un-ladylike fashion and snapped, "I already have it and I'm not giving it back."

I looked at the hat rack. Did she replace my hat with one that looked exactly like it? Could you even find that kind of hat these days?

"You can't be serious," I scoffed, "It'd look elegant with that long coat you have on now but every time you took it off your head those beautiful curls would look like they came out of a cake mold."

She stared at me. This time she really must have thought I was crazy because she began to back away from the desk and towards the door.

"Ms. Fox," I pointed out as I lazily reached forward with the hooked end of my cane, in an effort to delicately capture her gloved wrist, "I would prefer it if you stayed here."

Her arm lifted abruptly in response to my movement and I saw her aim at my head. She hesitated a second, obviously deciding that my face wouldn't have looked nearly as handsome splattered across the wall, and aimed her shock pistol at my heart. As I realized my mistake, I leapt clear of the chair and landed, with both feet on the floor, just as she blasted a hole in it. Did she have that thing set to stun or not?! That was some nasty electricity, the chair was still smoking! Though the blast hadn't been forceful enough to knock it onto the floor, I was a bit shaken. I had hoped she wasn't willing to kill me. I certainly wasn't willing to kill her.

She turned to face me then, her eyes wide and her mouth half-open in a snarl. Those pearly white canines of her looked so cute when she had them bared but I really needed to concentrate on the matter of staying alive. I dived forward and knocked the gun from her hand with the best speed I could manage. It was enough. The pistol fell to the ground and she grabbed my cane briefly before pushing it away... trying to push ME away. I held firm and she backed up but didn't run for the door yet. Our gaze met and I was unclear whether she was angry or simply disappointed in me. The tension between us was strong and I was reminded once more that we were supposed to be on opposite sides of the law. But that didn't mean I couldn't be civil about it. And she was still there, taunting me with her loveliness. It then dawned on me that perhaps I was now truly standing in front of her intended escape route, the window, and not before, when I caught her red-handed. Even so, the door was better than nothing, so why wasn't she taking it? She'd already taken out the lasers in the main part of the building, so that wasn't a problem. Maybe it was the cameras she was nervous about... I really didn't know.

"Catch," she ordered.

I had just enough time to hunch forward slightly as she tossed a piece of folded paper to me sideways, like a Frisbee. Not that I tended to play Frisbee, but when a woman like that asks me to do something simple, I'll do it. As I held it in my hand, I noticed it looked like a very stylized version of her head... with curls, braid, and even that little birthmark on her cheek. Her calling card! It was at that moment that she apparently lost interest in me. I heard the distinct but faint patter of her slippers moving across the floor and looked up in time to realize I was alone. But not for long!

I tucked the Felonious Fox Gang's card in my shirt pocket and ran for the door. Catching sight of her tail swishing around one bend in the hall, I gave chase, nearly as light on my feet as her, if it weren't for the heavier boots that I wore. I knew from past experience that she was fast... but I could be faster! I doubled my sprint and nearly wrapped the hook of my cane around her wrist again just as she'd managed to jump on the sil of another open window. (Interpol really needs to crack down on that... Then again, how many people are expected to rob the place? Most people would find it a waste of time.) With a professional sort of briskness, she avoided me and climbed onto the narrow ledge beneath. With a similar stride, I followed her onto the ledge in time to realize she was making her way to the fire escape. She seemed shocked to find me still on her tail. For me its quite natural. I had been a catburglar, after all, and even if I wasn't one of the best I could still pull off more tricks of the trade without thinking about it than your average citizen might manage with a week of training.

And I don't think she had realized the extent of my abilities until that moment. She jumped for the fire escape and landed with a thud. Recovering quickly, she ran down the stairs with the kind of skill I had to admire. It's not as easy as it might sound, at least not without injury. I was still hot on her trail and landed with a similar lack of grace. The angle of the ledge on the wall and the fire escape wasn't the best for a stunning display, though the fact we'd managed it was still something to take pride in. Carmelita certainly knew what she was doing.

It wasn't long before she'd reached the parking lot and she didn't slow down one bit when her feet hit the pavement. She dodged around one of the cop cars left on the lot as if she was afraid I might fire on her. With what? Her origami calling card? I wasn't breathing easy when I finally launched myself off the end of the stairs but I wasn't winded yet. I had to catch her before she made it to the edge of the lot! I knew she had to have an escape vehicle around here somewhere, her file suggested it was a van, and I didn't want her reaching it before I got there.

A flash of blue and red shot past the car to my left. I leapt onto the hood and then over for a shortcut. I never realized how many trash cans they had out here before but one got in my way just as I was closing the distance. Damn it! I knocked the trash can over and found I had the energy for one last, extra burst of speed. The shadow of the buildings that were between us and the moon loomed just a few feet away. I thrust my cane forward and used it to knock the gun out of her hand as her arm arced backwards.

She stumbled a minute, realizing the sudden loss of weight as it was forced from her grip. Poor Carmelita... she loved that shock pistol of hers. She had quite a temper and she used it, usually set on stun, whenever someone got in her way. I knew she would never leave it just lying there but she didn't like the idea of me being so close either. I stopped just as she dived for the pistol at my feet and caught her under the arm with my cane as she took hold of it. Carmelita remained crouched where she was, uncertain of my intentions. She could have blasted me in the leg and taken me out right then. Trust me, I was grateful for the hesitation she showed and used the time to gently pull her up into a standing position with cane and hand. She pushed the muzzle of the gun into my collarbone as I let go. I smiled at her and planted the tip of my cane firmly onto the ground, with both hands resting on the quizzically curved handle.

We were face to face again, closer than before and gazing into each others eyes. It would have been a beautiful, romantic moment except...

"Don't get any ideas, ringtail," she murmured and then jabbed me with her gun a few more times.

Talk about hostile. Did she EVER act friendly?

I frowned, "You didn't even say good bye."

"I mean it, Constable Cooper," she said, her face intense, "Stop following me right now or face the consequences."

"When you say now," I asked, "Do you mean until the end of time or just for tonight?"

"I'm not joking!" she screamed and shoved the gun up against my jugular as roughly as possible.

I leaned my neck back obligingly and smiled, "You're really very lovely when you're angry. Look, I'm sorry about what I said before. I'd never touch you inappropriately if I had to frisk you. Besides, I know exactly where you put the file... I just don't know which one you took."

Carmelita tilted her head to the side, as if I were some new, exotic bird she'd found in the Rainforest.

"Are you... trying to sweet talk me? Because if you are, I can tell you right now that its not going to work."

I love it when she lies. I was still alive... of COURSE it was working.

"Carmelita, I'm not going to arrest you for visiting me tonight... but I can't speak for anyone else you might have robbed at Interpol."

Carmelita snorted, "You're the only one who had anything worthwhile."

And then she seemed to realize what she'd said when I grinned at her. She tried to verbally backtrack immediately while leaning in closer as she rearranged the muzzle of her pistol so that it rested under my chin.

"Listen to me, Cooper," she snapped, "I don't care one bit about you. I just wanted your files on the Fiendish Five so I could rob them blind. Now get that into your head and get off my tail."

I tried to look down at her gun without moving my head but all I could see was her arm out of the corner of my eye. This didn't look good.

"One step closer to me and you're gonna have one hell of a headache when you wake up... if you wake up," she threatened.

"Is this any way to treat your biggest fan?" I complained, "Carmelita, I've been trying to follow your work every chance I got. You're really something but I can't believe you'd shoot me in cold blood."

She paused as she tried to decide whether that made any sense. To be honest, even I'm not sure it did. I wasn't kidding but I wasn't exactly a fan. I admired Carmelita but... mostly I was just opportunistic. She had helped me on some of the cases where she was initially involved. I didn't have any proof of it other than her calling card left at the scene of each criminal's bungled crime but that was enough. I knew that if she wanted to go after the Fiendish Five then I had suddenly found the one-two-punch I needed to really give them what they deserved for ruining my life. She could help me with crushing them and I would officially clean up in the aftermath. There was just no way I could lose as long as I could convince her not to kill me first.

"You? A fan?" she snickered, "That's a new one. Tell me more... while you still have a chance."

I smiled my broadest at the way she fell so easily for my gift of conversation. Officer Crinhorn swears I look devious when I'm "grinning from ear to ear" but I've been told by a few of the ladies at Interpol that its disarmingly attractive.

"Would you really feel good about shooting me, Carmelita?" I asked sweetly.

"Hmph! I certainly would!"

But in spite of her words, I could see that the cold, callous gleam had left her eyes. I guess she didn't see me as a threat right now, which I could hopefully use to my advantage. I shifted slightly, the gun starting to making it awkward to swallow, but kept smiling as I talked. Confidence was the key in this situation, as it was in every situation I'd ever been in. People will believe you as long as you seem to believe your own words. And I had no reason to lie, though I was wary of flattering her too much. You have to warm her up to you before she seems to take a compliment for granted. Otherwise... well, you'd end up where I was right now.

"All right, so shooting me might make you feel better for now. But am I really the one you want to waste your ammunition on? I get the feeling you're really itching to get your hands on the Fiendish Five for more than just their loot. Maybe some of this anger you have is meant for them too?"

Carmelita cocked her head to the side as she studied me. Maybe I was applying too much of my own hidden motivation to someone who had no reason to hate the Fiendish Five. Either way, she wasn't stopping me so I tried a more honest tactic.

"Look, the thing is... I was really hoping to do something about that gang myself. I'd get a nice little promotion out of it. You'd get some lovely items that I'm sure they have stored away somewhere... and I won't arrest you for any of it, as long as you let me help you. Its for the good of everyone," I said, thinking grimly back to that fateful night ten years ago.

Carmelita pursed her lips the minute I was through talking and tucked her arms under her bosom, one finger held up in somewhat unconscious protest, as she shook her head forcefully. Every inch of sensual body language said she was refuting even my choice of punctuation.

"Ohhh, no! I get it now... you're just looking for an easy score. Hah! What kind of cop are you anyway? Making deals with criminals and using it to further your own career. You're crooked, Cooper!" she said, wagging a finger at me.

"Yes, and if you'll note, I'm also congenial about it," I laughed, "But seriously, Ms. Fox... everyone has to make a deal now and then. What do you think attorneys do for a living? Besides, I really don't think you have any room to talk. You're a thief!"

Carmelita growled, "I may be a thief but I'm an honest one! You're OBLIGED to uphold the law though... it's cops like you that make me SICK."

I was a bit stunned. Did she really feel that strongly about a profession invented to thwart her own? Then I remembered, from what her file said she'd been born into a family of cops. She was probably raised on some strict moral codes... so what was it that had turned her to a life of crime?

"You sound pretty stern for someone who was about to shoot me just for following you out of a building," I pointed out.

Carmelita snorted and suddenly jerked her gun out from under her arm, as if suddenly realizing that she didn't have me covered with it. I hadn't moved at all, other than to lean forward on my cane a bit. And she took me by surprise, I swear! I thought I'd come close to convincing her but I must have been completely off my mark that evening. I blame the coffee... I never did get to drink more than a few sips. That coffee might have saved my life if only I'd drunk more of it. But there I was, staring stupidly as she shot me right in the kisser.

At least, I think she did. It happened so fast, all I had time to realize was that my head was spinning as my back lay on the hard granite. I was staring at the stars in the sky, concerned at the sudden change in position, when Carmelita stood over me. Her gun was cocked and ready, and still smoking from the blast, but she wasn't looking at me. She was communicating on a phone of some sort, but it was hard to tell because my vision was getting blurry from the shock of the electricity still coursing through my body. I'm still not sure if I was bleeding but I didn't feel as if I was strong enough to stand up either way.

"Bentley, things have been compromised pretty badly. Tell Murray to start the van this instant, I'll be there in a minute."

"Yeah, we can see the problem from here... just get moving, Sis'!"

The problem... so that's it. That's still all that I was in life... just someone else's problem. I thought I had accepted that fate in such a wholehearted fashion that I was making a difference and turning my whole life around even if it wasn't what I was hoping for. But no... I was just a failure.

"I'm sorry, Bro', but I can't do that," she said forcefully, "Give me a minute!"

I closed my eyes as I heard the trigger click into place. I was glad I couldn't see her face any longer... I don't know quite what I felt for Carmelita then but my heart hurt in more ways than one... The Felonious Fox Gang was definitely my undoing. I felt numb inside, even as I felt the same sizzle of pain jolt across my body again. And even as despair overwhelmed me, my determination refused to die.

I would not be killed without a fight! My father had gone down fighting and if I had to die, I would die just as he did. The electricity, even at full power, wasn't going to kill me with just two hits. I lifted my head, seeing her blurry outline, and used my weakened arms to arch my back as I raised my leg for a sharp kick in her general direction. A lamp post seemed to come out of nowhere then and I did my best to bite back a howl of surprise and pain as my foot collided with its stern metal side.

----

I nearly tumbled off the mattress, a bundle of tangled sheets and an unusually frizzy tail, as I was violently jarred awake by the pain. I threw the sheet off as quick as I could and grabbed my foot, wondering what the in heck just happened. As I rubbed it in an effort to soften the ache, the wall beside my bed taunted me and I frowned to myself, deciding I must have kicked the blasted thing in my sleep. It certainly felt like my foot had bashed itself against something sturdy and since my bed lacked a headboard and a footboard... well, that had to have been it. Unless I made contact with Murray walking by at just the right time, an unlikely coincidence. He would've been there, apologizing even though it wasn't his fault. (And then of course he would have teased me because my kicking him wouldn't have hurt that thick pink hide of his.)

I groaned as I sat up and rubbed my back. It actually did hurt, though not as much as if I had scraped it across some pavement. Overall, I was sore from lying down in one position too long. Bed sores... hah! I definitely couldn't have been asleep that long, even though it felt like it.

I reached for the blinds nearby and slid my fingers in-between, wanting to take a peek at the world outside, then jerked my hand away as a glaring ray of light flared across my eyes. I don't have an alarm clock in my bedroom (my internal timer is just as good) and I'm usually too lazy to get up and find one of Bentley's clocks. But some days I really wonder what has to be worse... sudden loud noises or sudden bright light?

Speaking of Bentley, he came in just as I was muttering to myself and rubbing the sleepy grit from my eyes.

He greeted me with the usual, "Ah, you're awake! And cursing our greatest source of energy and light, I see."

"Yeah, good morning to you too, Bentley," I said with a yawn.

"Morning... you always say morning, even when you KNOW the sun is setting right now," Bentley snapped. It's one of his pet peeves.

I grinned and nodded, "And I always will. Hey... wait a minute, what happened? Weren't we supposed to hit the new museum 25 minutes after sunset? Why didn't you wake me up?"

Bentley always has everything planned down to the minute. And usually I'm on schedule. Even so, it's not normal for him to let me sleep in when we have a job planned. If nothing else, I would have expected him to be panicking because we should have left in the van already. The job was pretty simple. The latest in a series of Parisian crime bosses had renovated a building to make money and show-off some art taken from a local rare artifact smuggler. He was opening it to a dubious public next week (Bentley thought it might have been a front in order to sell some high price goods.) We'd been contracted by another gang to take back the ones of Chinese origin but we had considered freeing some of the rest if we had time.

Bentley sighed, "No, there's no need. It seems that for once Inspector Fox got there first! She caught them moving some of the illegally obtained items red-handed. You didn't tip her off last time, did you?"

This was news to my ears. I didn't even realize what he'd accused me of, I was still trying to register the fact that I'd been beaten to the punch by an agent of Interpol.

"Carmelita got there first?"

"Yes, that's been confirmed. What I want to know is why she went there in the first place."

I scratched the back of my head and behind one of my ears as I thought that part over.

"I don't know. When we were scoping the place out, I didn't mention it. I wasn't even on the roof by then. She caught me on the street a block away and I finally lost her near the river. Unless she's gotten better at guessing our hits, she must be getting better information."

"That is likely," Bentley said with a nod, "But even so, Murray and I think you need to keep from having any verbose conversations with her in the immediate future."

I laughed at that, "I poked her shoulder and yelled 'Tag, you're it!' I don't think that counts as a conversation."

"I know that doesn't count. What I'm saying is, don't go taunting her about her success in order to find out what source of knowledge she used. We don't need to alert her to crimes we didn't even get the chance to commit."

"But don't you want to know?" I asked, feeling just a little worried.

"Of course I do!" Bentley said with a huff, "But we'll find out in due time. I intend to research the case thoroughly when I get the chance."

And with that, he started to shuffle back out the door.

"Hey, Bentley... about Carmelita," I began.

He paused in the doorway, his hand still resting on the knob. I don't usually mention her to them. We're the closest friends you could imagine, Bentley, Murray, and me. But they're just not fascinated with her like I am and they're only interested in talking about her when she's hot on our trail or putting a hitch in our plans.

"I had a dream about her."

Bentley grimaced. I held my hands up, palms out, when I realized what he probably expected that sentence to mean. Bentley isn't a prude but I don't blame him. I'm the same way when it comes to his relationship with Penelope. I like hearing the stuff that's amusing but I don't need any dirty little details, if you know what I mean. Not that Penelope isn't cute. I just don't want to think about what the two of them might do together.

"No! It was more of a nightmare... and I was working at Interpol," I explained.

He looked more receptive at that. Adjusting his bifocals, he considered the temerity of the situation. He was also a little smug, I bet. I've always held to the theory that I don't dream, even though Bentley's told me more than once that everyone dreams and I simply never remember mine. But this was definitely different. I don't think it really changed things, since it wasn't a -good- dream, but it does put a little flaw into my theory that I can't easily explain. Especially since I can't remember if I had any before I went to the orphanage where I met Murray and Bentley.

"Go on," he said, "It may not be intellectually stimulating subject matter but it obviously had some effect on you if you're willing to mention it."

I swallowed a moment. The dream was now coming back to me, as vibrant and real as when I was dreaming it. I hadn't forgotten it when Bentley had arrived but I had pushed it to the back of my mind after I was positive I was still among the living. I described it as well as I could to him, without taking forever or going into too many details about my banter with the Felonious Fox. When I was done, he put his chin in his hand and thought it over for a few minutes.

"I dunno, Sly," he began, "That is unusual for what is apparently the first dream you've remembered from as far back as you CAN remember. But it does have some basis in your life, after all."

He meant the time I spent pretending I had amnesia after the climatic battle with Dr. M... Carmelita had taken me in and tried to pass me off as a Constable in Interpol, not just to me but to the agency too. It took guts and quite a bit of luck on my part to get her to do that, given how strongly she clings to her morals. But I knew she was crazy about me so I never even thought that my plan might not work. I didn't even think about what would happen after it did.

Of course being around Carmelita was wonderful. I finally got a chance to spend some time with her that didn't threaten to end with me in jail. I did end up running from her though. For the first two weeks she wanted me to "take a break" from working at Interpol, since I was having trouble remembering it. When she finally tried to integrate me into her work, I... got cold feet. I just couldn't imagine working for them, not even for Carmelita. So I left, promising myself I'd find some other way around it. It's been a couple of months since then and she always looks so hardened when I see her now.

"Perhaps you're afraid of losing her... or losing to her entirely, and its finally turned up in a way that refuses to be ignored because you sincerely feel like you're in danger. Maybe you should write this down for further analysis," Bentley suggested.

I shrugged. I'm not really one for keeping a journal, other than the Thievious Racoonus, but I guess it couldn't hurt to make a physical note of it. Who knew how fresh my memory would be later? To be honest, I don't think the dream meant anything... except that I feel guilty. Really guilty. Maybe that's why she had a heart of steel and killed me.

When Bentley closed the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts, I realized just how much I didn't want to be alone right then. This wasn't helped by a sudden onset of drowsiness and, lets face it, just a hint of depression. I closed my eyes and rubbed them roughly with the palm of my hands while bunching my shoulders into a slightly uncomfortable position. But the feelings didn't fade in spite of the determination and mild pain. I pulled myself out of bed then, tossing the covers back into careless, crumpled folds and began doing yoga stretches on the floor. The ebb and flow of tension in my muscles felt really good, as always, so I kept at it until I felt sufficiently relaxed.

But I still wasn't ready to face the rest of the world. That look on Carmelita's face right before the end, even though I was becoming uncertain as to how exactly it went, had still left a lasting impression on me. I NEVER wanted to see her look at me that way again and I knew I'd recognize that expression the minute I saw it, even several years from now when I'm old and... more gray than I am now.

I sat down then, crossing my legs and resting the back of my hands on my knees as I turned them upward, pressing my thumb and my first two fingers together in a relaxed position. One of the few things Murray had taught me, after his trip to Australia naturally, was the art of meditation. I had taken up yoga on my own because I needed a way to keep myself limber. Why I hadn't considered meditation before I'll never know. It's a great great way to clarify things in your life, or at least pull yourself together after a really bad day. That's what it felt like, a really bad day, even though I'd just woken up. My heart was still beating faster than it really needed to and I knew a good 20 minutes or so of becoming one with the universe would be well worth it.

Calm. Quiet. That stranger in the dream, who had been me without really being me, was fading away. But what was actually left behind?

I knew I had to talk to Carmelita again and soon. But before I could do that, I had to see what Bentley had pulled up in his research.

Carmelita, I swear that I never meant to hurt you.

Oh, wait... I was supposed to be writing in a diary or something while the memories of my dream are still... umm, fresh. Truth be told, the whole thing is beginning to fade. I wonder if I could use the Thievious Raccoonus for this? Heck, why not? Bentley has already written in it, it's not like one little dream is going to be "sacrilegious" (a strange word, given that I'm not one for any kind of religion myself. The way I see it, all the effort that's put into one gets in the way of thieving.) I suppose the worst that could happen is I bore or annoy my future relatives when they find my latest entry. And if I get embarrassed... I can always just tear it out. Right, Carmelita?

The End


End file.
